


something there

by fruti2flutie



Series: wish upon a shining diamond [4]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Disney, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-24 16:16:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8378968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruti2flutie/pseuds/fruti2flutie
Summary: Jihoon doesn’t get along well with people. He prefers inanimate objects, like plastic ferns or china teapots. Clocks are okay, too. The ticking is slightly unnerving, but he can handle it — it’s predictable, consistent, while humans are not.Prime example of an unpredictable human: Lee Seungcheol.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i literally have no idea what time period i put for these fics, they vary, so use ur imagination???? idk!!! disney is all over the place, man!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> anyway enjoy, i really liked this one :-)
> 
> (*beauty and the beast)

Jihoon doesn’t get along well with people. He prefers inanimate objects, like plastic ferns or china teapots. Clocks are okay, too. The ticking is slightly unnerving, but he can handle it — it’s predictable, consistent, while humans are not.

Prime example of an unpredictable human: Lee Seungcheol.

There’s so much to Seungcheol that Jihoon doesn’t understand. Last month, when Seongcheol’s father came to plead for mercy regarding his family’s growing debt, why had Seungcheol stepped in during the argument? Why had Seungcheol, knowing absolutely nothing about Lee Jihoon and his family, offered _himself_ as payment for the debt — as a housekeeper for Jihoon’s gigantic estate? Why, out of all things, had Seungcheol given Jihoon this proposition?

And why had Jihoon agreed? He’s a loan shark, not some charity giver, notorious for his steel heart and iron fist. The villagers never even dare to set their eyes on his property, wary of the rumors of the ruthless Jihoon. Pity is a difficult emotion to wrench out of him, but somehow Seungcheol’s family had been able to. Why?

The arrangement had happened stiffly, in the dead of night, at the beginning of fall. Seungcheol had come bringing only one stuffed suitcase and a weary patience for Jihoon. With no other staff, all the chores Jihoon normally puts aside for spring had been handed off to him and, surprisingly, he took to them with ease.

These days Seungcheol leaves Jihoon confused. Ever since his arrival they haven’t spoken more than a sentence at a time to one another, except for when Jihoon showed him around the mansion. And yet, even then, Jihoon had been curt. But Seungcheol—

Seungcheol is kind, yet stubborn. He does his best cooking meals for Jihoon, leaving them outside his office because Jihoon rarely steps out of it when Seungcheol is awake, but never goes out of his way to make dishes Jihoon wants. He doesn’t acknowledge Jihoon if he notices the untouched veggies on the plates when he goes to wash them, but when Jihoon leaves his plate clean Seungcheol’s grin is wide and clear.

He’s taller than Jihoon, too, and sometimes reaches for files on the top shelf when Jihoon can’t. Looks down on Jihoon not with malice but benevolence. He’s strong, lifting twenty kilo boxes to-and-fro in the yard, yet he’s fragile, going pale when he discovers Jihoon during a bout of self-hatred in the night as they meet in the dimly lit kitchen.

Jihoon doesn’t get it.

Today, this morning has been uneventfully normal. Jihoon stays in his office, makes a number of phone calls, preys on the weak because that’s his job. A family business, unfortunately, and Jihoon has to keep the tradition going. It’s exhausting.

Typically, Seungcheol keeps to himself and tends to the overgrown rose garden while Jihoon is working, but as Jihoon starts gathering files for another client he knocks on the door and greets, “Hey, Jihoon.” (It sounds as uncomfortable and foreign as Seungcheol looks in Jihoon’s room.)

Jihoon blinks. “Yes? Do— Do you need something?” He busies himself with writing down notes on a sheet so he doesn’t have to meet Seungcheol’s imploring gaze.

Seungcheol scuffs his socked toe across the ground and runs his hand through his hair. “I was wondering...” He looks at Jihoon in earnest, smiling softly. “Can I go visit the city?”

“Excuse me?” blurts Jihoon. “Why?” He doesn’t mean to, because he knows the reason. Seungcheol hasn’t been more than a block from the mansion ever since he’d come. The farthest he’s been is the supermarket, which is only down the road. It’s nothing compared to his home in the metropolitan city of Daegu, miles and miles away from rustic Busan. Of course he wants to leave.

“I want fresh air,” Seungcheol answers. “Well, not really _fresh_ air. The city is kind of polluted. It’s where I grew up, though, so it’s like fresh air to me.”

Truthfully, Jihoon doesn’t want to let Seungcheol go. He fears Seungcheol won’t come back, will leave Jihoon alone in this big and empty house that’s in no way a home without him. The thought scares him. Seungcheol could turn around and run, forget all about Jihoon, and that would be the end of it. Except it’s not Jihoon’s authority to rule over another human like that, to trap them, to cage them, so he can’t tell Seungcheol no, even if he’s his employee.

“I’ll send for a car.”

The grin that breaks onto Seungcheol’s face is dazzling, eye-catching, so Jihoon can’t help but stare. He looks the happiest he’s ever been in Jihoon’s house, as if he’s the single rose in the garden that has persevered the rain and snow through the seasons. He laughs genuinely, full of life, and all of a sudden he’s asking, “Do you want to come with me?”

Jihoon’s pen flies out from his fingers, marking stray papers with unintended streaks of ink, and he stammers, “W-What for?” He wasn’t expecting anything from Seungcheol after this agreement, let alone an _invitation_.

“To relax!” Seungcheol declares, stepping closer to Jihoon’s desk. Jihoon leans back in his chair instinctively. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone, and you haven’t been eating properly.”

“I don’t get vacations,” Jihoon proclaims, sniffling. He doesn’t respond to the rest of Seungcheol’s statement — it’s all true and irrefutable. Jihoon has been missing meals for the last few days, leaving plates untouched, hasn’t gotten enough sleep in weeks. All the work that’s piled on his desk is never ending, and each time he thinks he sees the bottom more emerges from underneath it. But Jihoon doesn’t get vacations, isn’t supposed to.

Seungcheol, however, refuses to be deterred. “Why not? No offense, but you _really_ look like you need one. You’re always so tense and irritable, it’s—” He bites his lip. “It’s not good for you.”

Exhaling quietly, Jihoon rubs his temples and closes his eyes. “Look, I know you mean well, but this is my job. I can’t just put everything off to go on a playdate.” He knows he sounds harsh, but he can’t help it. It’s the truth.

“I’m not going to beg,” Seungcheol sighs, and Jihoon hates how disappointed he sounds. “Jihoon, I want you to know that this would do us both some good.”

“How?”

Seungcheol knocks on Jihoon’s desk, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I won’t tell you that. If you want to know, you’ll have to come with me and figure it out.”

Jihoon wants to scoff or roll his eyes — is Seungcheol trying to goad him into following with some hidden secret locked behind his lips? Preposterous. It’s not like Jihoon will agonize over the uncertainty, the mystery. He’s an adult, too mature to dwell on silly tricks like that.

The thing is, though, Jihoon has been treated like an adult almost all his life. Without mercy. He’s lived not knowing what it’s like to have friends in his youth who can count on him or he can count on. He’s missed cherishable memories that could’ve been made in favor of watching innocent people suffer in the hands of owed money. He’s grown too quickly, too cynically, into a heartless beast that people fear and despise.

But that’s not the truth; that’s not who Jihoon is. Jihoon isn’t good with people, yes, but maybe if he tries hard enough he could be. Maybe it isn’t too late to open the doors, tear down the brick walls. Maybe if he puts in an effort like he does with the infinite amount of paperwork on his desk. Maybe he can change. Maybe someone can change him.

And maybe there’s a soft spot in his heart, reserved only for Seungcheol, which gets him out of his seat and answering, “Okay.”

 

 

 

 

Seungcheol takes Jihoon to Seoul, the city on the rise, riding the train per Seungcheol’s request. Seoul isn’t exactly home, but it’s similar, much farther than Daegu is but Seungcheol wants to sightsee. They walk through busy streets and lose one another in the crowd, and eventually Seungcheol leads Jihoon by the hand, finding the smaller boy’s fingers so easy to slip into his own. He wonders if anyone’s ever held Jihoon’s hand, and it makes his ears red thinking that he’s the first.

After hearing Jihoon’s stomach growl Seungcheol treats them to dinner — street food, the stuff he’d lived off of as a juvenile high schooler, spicy rice cakes and skewers. Jihoon blows at the steaming fish cake and takes a careful bite, eyes widening at the taste. “Good?” Seungcheol asks, and Jihoon nods ecstatically, finishing off the meat in only two more mouthfuls. “I’m glad you like it! How does ice cream sound?”

So the sun sets, and Jihoon buys them popsicles from a nearby convenience store. They sit near the Han River, bumping sides, staring at the sky and chatting about past aspirations, dreams, a shared love of music. Jihoon looks at peace with a calm smile, one that suits him much better than a scowl, and Seungcheol wants to see him like that all the time. Happiness is a gift that everyone deserves to experience, especially if it’s for someone who’s worked as hard as Jihoon.


End file.
